good enough...

“You have a certain laugh when you are uncomfortable, when you are uneasy, when you are nervous, anxious, feeling vulnerable and trying not to let it show."

A beloved let me cry when my lover left, he tells me this to explain why he knows I am not all right, as I have tried to convince myself that I am…that I will be…

As I offer up the lie to him, like offerings to my Gods, 

like blackberries in a bowl on the breakfast table…

to let him out of this spiral before I panic and pull him under with me, 

like a drowning man grasping at anything to stay above water…

I have a tell…gotta fix that…

My brain begins the litany…

"Useless…”

“No good to anyone…”

The realization that no one has ever fallen in love with me…ever…

“Of course they didn’t...how could they?”

“What is wrong with me?”

“What is right…?”

The shadows smell blood in the water…too late now…

“Have I done anything right?...ever?”

“Yes, twice…”

“Is that enough?”

“maybe…”

Can I remember that I am good enough?

Can I convince myself that this feeling is simply my heart expanding, learning, growing,

increasing its capacity…?

maybe…

Can I breathe? Can I breathe deeper, slower?…

Can I remember that love is a gift I am capable of?

That I am capable?

That I am good enough?

That I can do this?

That I am strong?

That I am whole?

That it will be all right?

That this will pass?

That I will survive this?

That this is necessary?

“maybe…”

I still cannot remember anyone ever falling in love with me, and that is all right…

because I can remember falling in love...and that is good enough.

Highway...

I stand in the shadows under a dark sky,

watching the trucks and cars drive past from left to right,

a flat, straight highway going south. 

Their lights moving past at a constant speed,

I could be ten states away by morning.

Each moving farther and farther away from this place, 

already there are three hours behind me.

There is nothing to hold me here. 

I would be ten states away by morning.

Nothing but the pain I feel,

my anger and the desire

to cut you open and to see you hurt.

I would be ten states away by morning.

I rage at you,

for undoing my carefully built boxes,

and the locks I have kept in place for so long.

for breaking open this heart.

for making me feel.

I watch the lights go past,

I could be ten states away by morning.

I could catch a ride to anywhere,

away from the people who touch me,

away from the pain I will feel,

and live my life,

with this heart locked safely away.

I will be ten states away by morning.

and lock up the boxes,

and be free of this heart that insists on awakening.

I would be ten states away by morning.

but even now it fights me,

to feel the pain I know is coming,

to let you push me under,

and drown if that is what I must do.

I would be ten states away by morning,

but this heart binds me with its magick,

and my feet carry me back inside.

I place my hands upon your skin...

I place my hands upon your skin,

And I feel the life in you,

Bright shining

Like the Sun on a summer morning.

It warms my skin in turn,

It seeps into my blood,

Pleasure coursing through my veins,

Liquid light,

Flowing through my body,

And into my bones,

Filling my belly and my brain,

Sinking deep into my soul,

 Seeking depths unknown,

Slipping between and

Beneath the shadows,

Burning darkness into ash,

With light so bright it hurts,

Like blood rushing into flesh long numb,

Fire burning into a heart long cold,

I place my hands upon your skin,

And I feel the light in you…

breaking bottles: on a day at the faire

breaking bottles: on a day at the faire

a twenty dollar bill handed to me with instructions

keep breaking them until this is spent

you must break them with intent

you must make noise when you break them

waiting in line with my brothers and my beloved teacher

opening the box I keep it in

easier than I thought it would be

taking it out and holding it

too easy…

I choose a white plate,

perfect for holding the food I did not want to eat

“Smiles “written in black on the smooth clean surface

for the smiles my mother wanted, for her unease with my sorrow

for the lessons in hiding anything that makes others uncomfortable

I scream as I throw it against the concrete wall,

my voice is forced, awkward, so too is the action

no power from a body unaccustomed to such an overt act

next is an artifact from childhood

my brother used to collect the round glass insulators

my father would bring home

from working on the telephone lines

that irony informed my sense of humor

the man who taught me silence

belonged to the Communications Workers Local

“Silence” written upon it

it takes three tries to break it

each time I scream, 

it robs me of strength

too much effort towards sound that only draws attention

does not accomplish anything

words have power

written in black on objects to be destroyed

for the silence of his anger

three days of not being seen

for the way he taught me to keep silence

for the lessons in not showing what you feel

for the silence they wanted instead of truth

no one in my family tells stories

no one writes poetry

but we all keep secrets

I gave up screaming

and my body discovered strength and power

and how to put my weight behind the action

the bottles flying in a graceful arch, like the crest of a wave

crashing upon the beach

shattering into pieces against a wall as hard as my heart

with a sound like the bomb inside me exploding

destroying that which was written upon it in black letters

“Compliance” for the years I gave away

for the lies I told to keep their peace

for the fights I never fought

for delivering my power into the hands of others

“Fear” for the chances I never took

for all the times I stayed timid and small

to make everyone feel safe but me

“Doubt” for the way I learned not to trust anyone

especially not my own mind, or heart, or magick

“Secrets” for the things we don’t talk about…

“Shame” for depression

for submission

for desire

“Good Girl” for never being one

for wishing I could be

for never being called one

for wishing someone would…

just once

“Expectations” for never really knowing what they are

for never being able to meet them

for always trying to anyway

for failing every time

“Ice Princess” for every blind and stupid idiot

who ever looked at me

and decided that was what I am

and for every time I believed them

"Unworthy” for the dreams that I still have

that tell me I have been judged

that I can never be good enough

to be loved

the last bottle in pieces

putting it back in the box where I keep it

is not so easy…

the Coming of Winter...

Winter is coming

and you will be quitting me soon...

I know this fact

every moment of every day...

Each day the beast draws closer

with each breath, with each beat

with the fall of each night

the day becomes shorter

the darkness grows and

the silence creeps closer...

It stalks me

watching and waiting for the moment

that moment when you will touch me for the last time...

The cold silence waits for me

it waits until you are gone

it waits for that moment

to wrap its cold, dark silence around me

to hold me untouched, cold and silent

all through the long dark months...

I can feel it closing in on me

and I want to scream...

No you cannot take me!

I am Warm and Alive!

I hold Fire inside me!

But no matter how I rage against it

no matter how hard I beat my fists against the tomb

no matter...

I cannot escape 

the coming of Winter.

the price

the price we sold ourselves for

was never the nine pieces of tarnished silver in the kitchen drawer

four knives, two forks and three spoons…

it wasn't the pair of used sneakers two sizes too big for our feet

or two pairs of cast-off jeans

and three worn-out t-shirts that we wore all week

clean or not, ‘cause maybe they didn’t get washed

but they were all we had to wear in January…

or the greasy popcorn we ate for a week

‘cause there was nothing else in the place…

it wasn’t the broken bone

that never healed right

‘cause she couldn’t be bothered

to take us back to the doctor…

or the looks from our teachers and our classmates

that said they could see our darkness

and it made them nervous …

it wasn’t the hand that never touched our hair

or the eyes that looked right through us

like we were never even there

or the words of pride that our ears never heard...

or the touch we craved like addicts…

it wasn’t the anger that filled our bellies

or the guilt we felt for always wanting more...

or all the things we did

to buy oblivion instead…

it wasn’t the time we spent on our knees begging

or the years spent quiet, timid and small

trying to kill our own strength...

locking our anger

fear, rage, pain and need

inside our bellies...

keeping our heart encased in ice

‘til it turned stone cold and hollow 

unshed tears freezing and falling

building a glacier against hope...

hoping it would die silently

so not to make anyone uneasy…

it was never the choices that we made

to deliver our power into the hands of the careless…

the price we sold ourselves for

was the belief that we could never be

good enough to deserve better…

To the Queen of the Abyss…

Once upon a time, you were brilliant and beautiful.

Full of power and blessed with privilege,

You danced upon the stage of life,

full-glorious in the light, admired by all.

Desiring all that you could see,

All that you desired was yours.

Vain and entitled, life was a game and you,

The Queen, reveling in your mastery of it,

played with abandon and the carelessness

of one who has never known the truth of sorrow.

Confident within yourself, and in the rightness of your power,

you played with your puppets

and tossed them aside when the next pretty thing caught your eye.

For the desire of some sparkling token,

You used your power to have what you desired,

 and destroyed something of true worth.

Did you know it then? Or did you only discover it after?

Now you stand, in your silent isolation, as cold as the corpses you left behind,

Hooded and cloaked in darkness, seeing nothing, making no sound.

Your grief and despair wail unceasingly, surrounding you,

filling your cavernous Temple of Sorrows,

moving upon the rushing waters swirling continuously at your feet.

These are your powers, your sorrows, your purpose.

These are your children and your treasures, this sound and this temple.

Here in the Abyss you reign as Queen.

You followed me for lifetimes, unseen, unknown,

lifetimes more have I carried you.

The time has come to bid farewell,

But my heart is reluctant to lose you. 

For what if, without you and your sorrow,

my heart is empty, or I have no heart at all?

You have been my companion, a part of me, for so very long,

how do I abandon you forever?

Will I still know myself without your sorrow in my soul?

 I must let you go,

I must cut the thread that binds us.

Unless I do, we will always dance together in the darkness.

I must step forward into my purpose, my future,

Into my power, and the light.

You have taught me well through time of many lives. 

My heart and soul will remember you,

even when I am free of your sorrow and your grief.

I promise you that what is remembered lives.

And maybe someday we will dance together in the light.

I lay upon my bed...

I lay upon my bed,

The light turned out an hour ago,

The embers shimmer and glow inside,

The waves rolling off my skin,

Light the shadows all around.

I think of you and in my mind,

I hold your body close.

Although my heart would be for you,

A place of love and healing,

My mind tells me that what you need,

Is not what I can offer.

I focus on your pain,

On my desire to transform

That sharp thing,

Into something else.

As intense and overwhelming,

And consuming as my need.

My body and my soul want you still,

Even in your darkest hour.

To feel your force,

Your frustration and your anger,

Your loss and grief and despair,

Pouring into me,

Purged and purified.

To be battered in your arms,

To feel your violence and your hope,

To feel your control,

And your abandonment of it.

To feel your hands around my throat,

Pressed against the wall,

With no escape,

No choice,

But to surrender to your will,

And be conquered by your power.

Invocation to my Patron

Gwynn ap Nudd

Dark Father, Lord of the Storm

Leader of the Hunt, Guide of the Dead

Guardian of the Cauldron of Annwfn

I come to you in the Dark

I cry to you in the storm

Hear me and Lead me home

Gwynn ap Nudd

Rider of the winds, Lord of the Dark

At whose feet my ancestors sit

I call to you in my despair

I am your child, I am in need

Embrace me in my weakness,

my ugliness, my fear

hear me and lead me home

Healing Spell

Doubt no longer rules my mind

Grief no longer chokes me

Fear no longer rules my heart

and Loss no longer wounds me

Hope and Joy and Faith and Love

These things shall now replace them

By Sun and Moon and Stars above

My Spirit now reclaims them.

Oblivion

The demons lurk around me, surround me,

creeping in the darkness,

in the quiet of solitude,

inside me they hide,      

and wait to over-come me.

I run, wrestle, try to escape, to chase them away.

But still they come,

like bad dreams,

the night-mares I have

when I am awake.

Reality comes too close.

I seek oblivion, my refuge.

I pursue it everywhere.

Finally it comes to me,

slips over me like a blanket,

the demons are purged.

Gratefully I rest,

and am safe.

Waiting

At midnight I sit among my candles and incense,

music and wine, waiting.

I think of you driving in the night,

and I wait for you to come to me.

I hear you at the door, before you are there,

and then you are, and you come inside.

You don’t have to talk, just lay beside me

I hold you and you sleep in my arms.

Every night I wait, every day I wait,

for the day that you need me,

the day that you want me,

the day that you love me,

and I wait for you to come to me.

MISSING

The word MISSING scrawled beneath the photo-copy of a girl’s picture

on a pole at the corner, a block from the river, in a town that’s empty

on a weeknight in winter at one in the morning.

It is a town where lost and wandering souls go to remain lost.

Where one goes when one is missing and wishes to remain that way.

Bitterness

Biting pain

In the place just above the heart

Touching the mind

Transforming

Everything from life to festering disease

Rancid wounds that

Never heal

Even when the

Soul becomes

Sick unto death

Hyde

Deep inside at the bitter core exists a deformed creature,

stunted in youth,

who retreated and disfigured

and refused to grow,

the summer of my ninth year.

Hyding among shadows of fear

like a wild animal,

not truly human,

or perhaps more human than I am now,

She sleeps.

Then escapes and retreats before she’s caught,

lashing out to destroy anyone in sight,

when backed into a corner,

or trapped by too much light.

Gift-wrapping

I put my hand into a gift-wrapped box full of razorblades

and bled all over my jeans, and the pretty wrapping paper.

The cuts healed into scars,

but every time I touch gift-wrapping they bleed,

making a mess on the floor.

Pain in Haiku

Pain as dark as night,

cutting deep into your soul,

as the dawn breaks through.